


Three Times The Lovin'

by iamjacksblindrage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjacksblindrage/pseuds/iamjacksblindrage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life at 221B is always interesting.  But Sherlock's bed is seeing a lot more action these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was warm in that tangled mass of limbs, wrapped in a tangled mass of sheets. There were arms around your waist and a chest pressed to your back. Warm breath made the short hairs at the nape of your neck flutter. Another arm was pillowing your head and a warm face was pressed into the hollow of your throat. Dark hair tickled your nose with every inhalation. Long, slim fingers ran up your side and brushed across the ugly mess of scarring on your shoulder and you flinched away from the painful touch. There’s a soft mutter of “sorry” against your throat. You kiss the dark head in front of you in response. The arms around your waist tighten, pulling your closer to the hot, densely muscled chest behind you. There’s a whine, and the thinner, bonier body pressed to your front follows your body heat, burrowing in close to your chest. A snuffling chuckle sounds against the back of your neck, closely followed by a loud yelp and a sniggering against your chest. “Behave, you two,” you say, firmly, but without much conviction. The slim body lets loose a discontented grumble, but settles in. Lips press to the back of your neck, a silent apology. You settle into the warmth and quickly slip away into sleep.  
\---  
When you wake up, the bed’s empty. The sheets on either side of you are cool. You whine unhappily and burrow deeper into the covers. You hear a soft chuckle over the sound of violin music in the sitting room. You peer out from under the duvet to see Greg standing in front of the wardrobe, half dressed. His white undershirt is tucked into dark grey trousers and his white button down is hanging open over that. His trousers are open, exposing his dark pants, and his feet are bare.  
“Just where do you think you’re going?” You grumble, doing your best to glare at the older man. He smiles as he buttons up his shirt and tucks it into his trousers. After he zips and buttons them, he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.  
“I got called in for a case. Sherlock’s coming with me. We thought we’d let you sleep.” He strokes your hair as he talks, a soft, affectionate expression on his face.  
“But if you get up and get dressed quickly, you can come with,” he continues, bending down to kiss your forehead gently. You tilt your head back for a proper kiss and then roll out of bed, searching for clean, matching clothes. Greg shrugs on his blazer and pulls on socks and shoes while you’re dressing, and he’s waiting for you by the door with your coat in hand. He helps you into it and you both head out into the sitting room. Sherlock’s fully dressed, with his coat and scarf on, fiddling with his violin when the pair of you enter the room. As soon as he spots you, though, he sets the instrument down on his arm chair and strides out the door and down the stairs. You follow, with Greg close behind. Out front, Sherlock hails a cab and Greg bends down to kiss you quickly before giving you the address of the crime scene and climbing into his police cruiser parked on the curb. You climb into the cab after Sherlock and give the cabbie the address.  
The cab ride is long and you spend most of the drive in a comfortable silence. About 15 minutes into the drive, Sherlock looks up from his mobile. He turns to you and does something unexpected.  
He apologizes.  
“I’m sorry for waking you. Greg and I meant to let you sleep. Forgive me.”  
You squeeze his knee and smile softly.  
“It’s all fine, Sherlock.”  
He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your temple and then turns his attention back to his mobile. You smile and lean into the window and shut your eyes. You must have dozed off, because next thing you know, Sherlock is shaking you awake and paying the cabbie and ushering you out onto the curb. You trail after Sherlock as he heads in the direction of the police tape blocking off an alleyway. Greg is waiting for you when you get there.  
“Amelia Kendrick, 24. Reported missing 3 weeks ago by her boyfriend. Just graduated from Cambridge with a Masters in Psychology. One of the tenants upstairs in this building looking out their window saw the body and called it in.”  
Sherlock moved away from Greg to circle the body on the pavement. It’s a blond girl, dressed in a tattered t-shirt and jeans. Her shoes are missing and most of her head is smashed in. She’s laying on her side, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. There are ligature marks on her throat and wrists. The one eye that wasn’t crushed with the rest of her head stares ahead blankly.   
You shudder as Sherlock skirts a puddle of blood to get closer to the body. Greg places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. The pair of you wait in patient silence while Sherlock observes.  
“Any ideas, Sherlock?” Greg calls to the consulting detective.  
“A few,” he calls back from where he’s kneeling down next to the body.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, a few ideas ended in you and Sherlock chasing criminals all over London. Greg isn’t happy about it, especially when you don’t check in with him about it first. You both get a firm reprimanding at the hospital after the suspect has been detained. Then Greg sends the two of you, patched up and pumped full of drugs, back home to Baker Street with promises of takeaway when he comes home.  
The two of you stagger upstairs and flop into bed when you get home. Neither of you bother undressing, except to drop your jackets in the sitting room and toe off your shoes by the bed. Sherlock rolls into the warmth of your body, pressing his face firmly into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. You just stroke his shoulder sleepily, resting your face against his curls and closing your eyes.  
“You used Greg’s body wash last night,” he comments off handedly into your skin. You hum your agreement and kiss his head blindly. His teeth graze your neck and you jolt is surprise.  
“I like when you smell like him,” He growls, pressing your down into the mattress. “You smell like tea and off brand soap and wool. He smells like coffee and cigarettes and the sharp tang of cinnamon. Then you have to go and wear his shirt under your jumper and use his body wash and the scents intermingle and you’ve no idea how it drives me wild.”  
His hands are wandering up underneath your jumper and his teeth are on your jaw now. The firm line of his erection is pressed against your thigh and you whimper.  
“Sherlock,” you gasp, scrabbling for purchase at Sherlock’s shirt. He clambers over you and settles between your thighs. You’re pushing and pulling at each other’s clothes and in your drug addled state, it takes the two of you twice as long to get naked. When you’re finally skin-on-skin, you gasp and whimper. Sherlock groans and slots your hips together and rocks forward. It’s enough, oh, it’s more than enough to drive you wild. You slip your fingers into Sherlock curls and tug him down for a fierce kiss, one that’s more a mashing of lips and teeth than anything. And those sounds he’s making are mind blowing. You’re gasping and moaning and whimpering against his mouth with every press of his hips and every strangled groan that passes his lips. You’re close, you’re oh so close and you can feel it rippling under your skin and boiling in the pit of your stomach. And Sherlock sinks his teeth into your throat and that does it, you drag in a ragged breath and breathe out a whine of pleasure with your release. Sherlock follows close, with a soft curse and a low groan. Then, Sherlock’s arms fold under him and he collapses next to you. You gasp for breath against his curls. He places a gentle hand on the scarring on your shoulder and nuzzles his nose against your throat and next thing you know, he’s snoring softly, fast asleep. You smile and kiss his forehead and relax into the bed.  
Greg comes home about a half an hour later. You hear him call for the two of you, but you’re drowsy, hovering in a state of half-consciousness. You hear him shed his coat and kick off his shoes and set down the paper takeaway bag. He calls again, a little louder, and then you hear the padding of sock-covered feet on the hardwood floors in the hall. The footsteps stop just inside the bedroom door. You’re just about to call out to him when the bed dips next to you and a set of fingers stroke through your hair. You smile and murmur his name, and for some reason, that causes Sherlock to stir.  
“Greg?” He mumbles, tilting his head back and opening his eyes slowly. You twist your head to place a soft kiss to his forehead at the same moment Greg bends down to kiss his cheek.  
“Hey sunshine,” he says, stroking Sherlock’s curls. “How are you feeling?”  
“Sleepy,” Sherlock mutters. “And hungry.”  
You and Greg both chuckle at the consultant.  
“Well, you can sleep after you eat. I got Chinese.”  
This makes Sherlock perk up a bit and he rolls out of bed, tugs on his trousers and stumbles away into the kitchen. You and Greg chuckle at him and Greg bends down to catch your lips in a short kiss. You smile against his lips and let him urge you out of bed, help you into your pants and dressing gown and usher you into the sitting room. He brings you one of the takeout containers and a fork. Sherlock is already in his chair, shoveling down food like there’s no tomorrow. Greg sits down next to you and you lean into him. You see him smile softly out of the corner of your eye.  
After you finish your dinner, you slump down against Greg’s side. He throws his arm around you, pulling you in close. Sherlock is already passed back out, splayed on in his chair, snoring lightly. You’re drowsy, and you’re eyes keep sliding shut, even as you fight to stay awake.


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up in bed in just your pants without any recollection of how you got there.  You’re pressed to Greg’s side and he’s snoring with his mouth wide open next to you.  You snicker up at him and kiss his throat.  Sherlock’s nowhere to be seen.

                Greg stirs.  You tilt your head back to look up at him as his eyes flicker open wearily.  He catches your eyes and smiles before ducking his head and kissing you firmly on the lips.  When he starts to pull away, you follow, reconnecting your lips with his.  He smiles and rolls on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress.  You grin up at him and thread your fingers through his hair.  His teeth connect with your throat and you sigh.

                In no time, Greg is hard, pressed against your hip and you shudder under his lips.  He smiles, capturing your lips again, rolling his hips against yours.  You gasp and moan and writhe under him and he just smiles and continues his ministrations.  It’s not until after a particularly loud moan on your part that Sherlock peeks his head into the bedroom.  He looks ready to make a snarky comment until he fully comprehends the situation.  His eyebrows go from furrowed to his hair line faster than you’ve ever seen and both of you chuckle softly and Greg gestures for him to join.  He climbs onto the bed, fully dressed, and tugs you into his lap.  Greg leers up at you and shuffles down the bed to pull your pants off.  Sherlock’s hands are travelling up and down your torso and Greg’s are running up and down your thighs and hips.  You’re trembling from head to foot.  The moment Greg swallows your cock down, you groan and reach down to grip his hair.  Sherlock tuts behind you, untangles your fingers from Greg’s hair and pulls your hands up and behind your head.  He holds both of your wrists tight in one hand and with the other, reaches around and tweaks your nipple.  You shudder.

                The next thing you know, a lube-slicked finger is pressing into you.  You whine and buck your hips.  Both of the other men chuckle lowly at you and Greg continues what he’s doing.  A second finger, and then a third are quickly added, and it’s excruciating.  Every few thrust, he brushes your prostate and you can’t help the choked noises that escape your lips.  You want more, so much more.

                “Please,” You whine.  “Greg, please.  More. Harder. Please!”

                This time, you here the click of the lube opening and then the slick head of Greg’s cock is pressing in in in and you still need more.  Finally, you feel Greg’s hips pressed to the back of your thighs and you groan.  Greg presses one of your legs up and Sherlock reaches for it, pulling in down towards your shoulder.  This opens you up to Greg and he presses even deeper and you whimper.  When Greg finally, _finally_ , starts to move, pounding you hard, you drop your head back onto Sherlock’s shoulder with a breathy moan.  He peppers soft kisses on your jaw and neck and shoulder, murmuring obscenities in your ear.  You whine loudly when Greg changes his angle just enough to hit your prostate and he smiles.  Sherlock tilts his head up and catches Greg’s lips, muttering praise to him.  You’re absolutely gasping, whining and whimpering because you can’t catch your breath long enough to moan. 

                Greg kisses the inside of your knee when he pulls away from Sherlock.  Sherlock turns his attention to your neck and shoulder, biting and lapping and kissing.  Then there’s a sharp, albeit not unpleasant pain at your raised thigh when Greg bites you hard and then proceeds to suck at the wound.  Your breath catches in your throat and the heat in your stomach twists.  Sherlock, ever the mind reader, catches this and reaches around you and grasps your prick in his free hand, stroking it in time to Greg’s thrusts.  It doesn’t take long for you to come, and Greg follows close behind, dropping his head to your sweat-slicked shoulder with a shudder and a groan.  Sherlock murmurs praise to you both as he eases your leg down and strokes Greg’s hair softly.

                Sherlock and Greg lay you back on the bed.  Sherlock showers you in kisses.

                “You’re so beautiful,” Greg mutters against your ear.  “Such a gorgeous, beautiful, perfect thing you are.”

                You whimper softly, trembling under the soft, loving touches of both men.  It takes you a long moment to regain your composure.  When you come back to yourself, Sherlock is kissing Greg slowly and your breath catches at the sight.  You watch the pair for a long moment before they realize you’re watching, and then they turn their attention back to you. 

                “You are beautiful, John,” Sherlock murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth.

                “Perfect,” Greg adds, kissing your jaw.  “Absolutely perfect.”

                It’s a long, gentle moment before Sherlock pulls away and rolls off the bed.

                “I’ve an experiment to attend to, if you lot don’t mind,” he stated, walking out the bedroom door.  You and Greg lay together, in a companionable silence, for close to an hour, before your phone rings.  It’s Sarah, asking if you could pick up an extra shift, and you agree to help her out.  You hang up, kiss Greg and roll out of bed.  You dress quickly, and then kiss Greg one more time, with a soft ‘goodbye’ and head out.  You stop in the kitchen and kiss Sherlock softly on the temple with a murmured explanation, before heading down the stairs and out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

                You come home late in the afternoon to Sherlock sawing away at his violin and Greg nowhere to be seen.  You shed your coat at the door and toe off your shoes before padding across the room to Sherlock.  You wrap your arms around his waist from behind and squeeze.  He freezes, bow still raised, for a long moment.  You press your face firmly between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and kiss his spine and slowly, he starts to relax.

                “Case?” You murmur, stroking your thumb along the firm line of Sherlock’s hip.

                “Case,” He replies, dropping his arms and leaning back into you.

                “You’re composing.  You need anything?”

                Sherlock hums softly and then falls into silence for a second.  You let your hand travel a bit lower to rest on the waistband of his trousers.

                “Maybe a cup of tea and a blowie?”  You question, softly, against the bare skin at the nape of Sherlock’s neck.  He sighs and groans quietly.

                “That sounds wonderful,” he replies, setting down the violin on your chair and flopping down on his.  His knees spread wide and you grin at him and turn to the kitchen to put the kettle on.  He’s noticeably erect by time you return with two cups of tea in hand.  He takes the mug with a smile and a soft “thank you.”  You kiss his forehead and sit on the arm of his chair.  You both sip slowly at your tea, enjoy the hot beverage and each other’s company.  Sherlock sets his empty mug down before you finish yours, and proceeds to trail his fingers up and down your spine.

                When your mug is nearly empty, you set it aside and lean down to kiss Sherlock square on the lips.  He smiles, a bit deviously, so you nip at his lips in reprimand.  Then you settle down on your knees between his feet.  His dick is straining whole-heartedly against the front placket of his trousers, and you smile a sly smile up at Sherlock before leaning forward to nuzzle his erection with your nose.  He whimpers, his hips twitching up to meet your face.  You chuckle, and make quick work of his belt buckle and the button and zipper on his trousers, pulling them and his pants down around his thighs in quick order.  His cock, now out of its confines, springs up to just brush the thin cotton of Sherlock’s button down.  You take a second to admire it, flushed red, precum already beading at the head.  But then Sherlock starts to whine in annoyance, and you lean forward and take as much of him as you can in one go.  His breath catches and his hands scrabble for purchase on something, anything, which ends up being the curve of your skull.  You wince at the way his nails bite into your scalp when he grips your hair, but you don’t let up, aiming to bring Sherlock the relief and clarity he so needs to solve this case.  You’re quick and efficient in your movements, so it’s only a few minutes before Sherlock is coming down your throat with a choked groan.

                For a few beats, Sherlock just pants, eyes closed and head thrown back against the arm chair.  You get his trousers back on him in these few seconds, just in time for him to spring up, spouting off something about garden hoses and bruises before rushing out the door, only pausing to toss on his coat.  You chuckle softly to yourself, sat on the floor of the deserted living room.

                It takes you a few minutes to haul yourself off the floor, and when you do, it’s to head straight for the shower and crank the hot water.  You strip quickly and hop in, fully intending to enjoy a nice, long wank.  But then you hear the front door open and heavy footsteps on the stairs and you sigh in annoyance, preparing to reach for the cold water knob, when you head Greg calling your name.  He doesn’t sound out of breath or urgent in any way, so you smile and shout back at him.

                The bathroom door opens seconds after you wrap a hand around your cock.  The sound of clothes hitting the floor makes you grin a bit breathlessly.  The shower curtain eases back after a minute and Greg steps in behind you, plastering his body to yours.  Greg peers over your shoulder to watch you stroking your dick, and you feel his twitch against your arse.  You whimper softly.

                “Want a hand with that?”

                His fingers are trailing over your hips, and his lips are brushing your shoulder, waiting for your reply.  You gasp and drop your head back against his shoulder and let go of your penis in favor of reaching back and gripping Greg’s hair tightly with both hands.  He grins devilishly into your shoulder and reaches around to wrap his fingers around your member, stroking in short, light bursts.  You whimper and whine and thrust your hips forward into his hand and back against his erection, but the more you want, the more you need, the less he gives to you.  Eventually, you sigh in frustration and fall limp back against him.

                With you pulled back tight against him, Greg kicks up the pace.  His grip around your member tightens and he picks up the speed of his strokes and you sigh and moan under your breath.  He peppers kisses along your neck and shoulder, between small nips at your skin.  His free hand slides down your stomach, along your thigh, and up between your legs, to roll your balls in his hand.  The dual sensations make your thighs tremble and your breathy moans turn into louder whimpers.  The only coherent word to escape your lips is his name, breathy and high pitched.

                You come with a gasp, wrecked from the force of your orgasm.  Greg grunts behind you, and a warmth runs makes its presence known in the small of your back and drips down between your cheeks and over your balls.  You whimper at the thought of Greg coming on your arse.  Greg pants against your shoulder for a long moment, before he grabs the soap on the ledge and starts to lather you up, cleaning you with a delicate care. 

                Once the pair of you are clean, you both step out of the shower, towel off and stumble away into the bedroom.  It doesn’t take long for the pair of you to fall asleep curled up against each other. 

                The pair of you are woken a few hours later, near midnight, by the sound of the front door banging open and heavy steps on the stairs.  Greg groans and starts looking for his mobile, just in case Sherlock has a lead.  You remain in bed, groggy, and listen to Sherlock relaying information at a mile a minute to Greg, who in turn, is speaking it slower down the phone, most likely to Donovan.  Instead of get up and dressed after he rings off, though, Greg rolls back into bed, curling up next to you.  Sherlock toes off his shoes, shrugs off his coat and starts rapidly undressing.  Once he’s stripped down to his pants, he crawls into the bed on your other side, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder and neck.  It doesn’t take long for you to drift back to sleep in the combined warmth of the two men surrounding you.


End file.
